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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435178">Sawyer in Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponine119/pseuds/eponine119'>eponine119</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, past Sawyer/Kate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:27:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponine119/pseuds/eponine119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way to get what he wants is to tell her</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Juliet Burke/James "Sawyer" Ford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sawyer in Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sawyer in Love<br/>by eponine119<br/>August 30, 2020</p>
<p>Sawyer doesn't ever fall in love. He's said the words, dozens of times, but they are always hollow. Convincing, but hollow. He is excellent at pretending. </p>
<p>In his head, he thinks it might be something like what an actor does. He conjures it up from somewhere inside his chest, roughly where his heart beats, when he looks at her. He thinks about the things he likes about her, the things that he finds precious or attractive or cute. He looks into her eyes and in that moment – and in that moment only – love flows out. Once he's alone again, it's gone. </p>
<p>The good thing about his profession is that plenty of women aren't even looking for love. Playing the romance angle doesn't always mean sweet words and flowers. They're lonely, sure, and need somebody in their lives, but they'll settle for a good screw. In that way, him and these women, they've got plenty in common. </p>
<p>After the crash, on the island, it becomes clear to him pretty damn fast that he's going to need someone on his side. He'd be happy to be a loner, sitting back and watching Doctor Hero and Captain Iraqi do their thing. But they both glare at him, and while he'd welcome their fists in his face, to make the pain in his soul a real, physical thing, at the same time he knows neither one of them gives a damn whether he survives here. And if no one does, he won't. </p>
<p>So he watches, and thinks, while he smokes the last of his cigarettes. He picks one of them. She's cute, and seems to have the kind of bleeding heart that genuinely cares about people. That makes her a perfect mark. Even better than that, she's part of the in-crowd. The ones who know what's going on and who are always first in line at the table. </p>
<p>It gets to be a habit after awhile. It's easy to fall into. Looking in her eyes, pretending real hard. Sometimes he forgets and finds himself thinking about her when she's nowhere in sight, when she's bounced off back to Jack. </p>
<p>What Kate doesn't get, what she will apparently never get, is that every time he touches her, he wants something. Even that last kiss, right before he threw himself off the helicopter and out into space, it was because he wanted her to do what he'd asked her to do. And because he knows she's a sucker, he knows it will work. </p>
<p>If he thinks about that kiss at night, on the beach with their camp gone, with no food in his belly, no shelter and no blankets and not even a gun or a pair of shoes, well, it's just habit. </p>
<p>He does the same thing when they end up in Dharmaville, 1974. He takes a look around at his options, because he needs somebody here too. Somebody who'll have his back. The best choice, of course, is the one person who's already proclaimed she'll do this for him. The one who knows the truth, though the truth has always been something for him to run from. </p>
<p>The threat that she's going to leave actually puts a spike of fear through him, though he tells himself he doesn't need her. It's a threat to his entire system, to the way he does things. To the way he thinks of himself and how he defines success. It's been decades since a target slipped through his fingers. He knows what he's doing. </p>
<p>He started working her before this, pretty much from the moment it was just the two of them on the beach. She was drunk and stubborn and he thought it might be a Blue Lagoon kind of thing until the sky flashed and Rose and Bernard ran out of the trees yelling.  </p>
<p>Juliet remained his best option. She was a jewel – she knew the island, and she could defend herself. That also made it harder. She didn't need him. She didn't need his protection. </p>
<p>But what he sees in her eyes is something that he recognizes. She picked him, just like he picked her. (Just like Kate could never choose.) When he pretends real hard at her, she pretends right back. </p>
<p>He tries to decide what it is she needs so he can con her into continuing to choose him. A good screw, the heart of his arsenal, helps but it's not everything. It's what she needs, and it's what he needs too, and it's amazing with the two of them, but he doesn't think it's enough. </p>
<p>He can't get in her head. </p>
<p>In the meantime, it's all habit. It's a deep groove worn in the floor where they walk every day, like stone steps in ancient cathedrals worn down over centuries, like rocks changing the paths of rivers.  </p>
<p>He finds himself thinking about Cassidy. Things went on with her longer than anyone. He'd gotten really used to pretending with her. It came naturally after awhile. He didn't have to work for it, it was just there. Maybe it was because she was pretending, too, and in their hearts they both knew it. But he started to forget, and after awhile, she did too. He knew, because anyone who'd just been pretending wouldn't have been mad enough to do the things she did, say the things she'd said. In that way, it was the best con he'd ever done, because he really really hurt her. </p>
<p>A year or so on, that's how it's starting to be with Juliet. It's habit. He doesn't have to reach inside to project the love at her; it's there, at the ready, close to the surface. He kisses her just to kiss her, not to get something from her or to make her do something she doesn't want to do or to manipulate anyone else. </p>
<p>But he knows she's still pretending, too, because neither one of them says the words. </p>
<p>He finds himself starting to want them. He wants to hear her say them. It starts to be all he can think about, how much he wants her to fall in love with him for real. He wants the words to come out of her mouth without prompting or manipulation. </p>
<p>He also knows she sees him. She knows him. So he's never going to get this thing that he wants. She's smarter than that.</p>
<p>He lies awake in their house, in their bed, staring up at the ceiling. They live together, they sleep together, they laugh and play and flirt and fight, but it's still the damn velveteen rabbit, just fabric and stuffing made to look like something that's real. </p>
<p>There's no solution to his dilemma. But because he's Sawyer, he keeps beating his head against that wall. He works harder, gives her more, tries to impress her. He seduces her with all his best tricks. All it gets him is a satisfied smile and an offer to reciprocate in her sexy, low bedroom voice. </p>
<p>He goes the other way, picking fights and turning cold. But he has to stop because he gets too scared she'll actually leave him. Because she can be colder than him, any day, with no effort at all. </p>
<p>In all this desperation, it occurs to him that he's not pretending anymore. It's not habit. Because he wants it. He needs it. That's never happened to him before. </p>
<p>The only way to get what he wants is to tell her. </p>
<p>And that is fucking terrifying. </p>
<p>He doesn't know how to say the words he's said hundreds of times before. He doesn't know how to be deliberate without being phony. He can't set up a big scene but he can't just let it slip, because it means something. It means everything. </p>
<p>It takes so much courage he thinks he might be sick. “Juliet.” </p>
<p>She turns her blue eyes on him, amused and intrigued. </p>
<p>“Got somethin' to say to you. Somethin' important.” </p>
<p>She gets that smile, the one that infuriates him and he adores. “I know,” she says. </p>
<p>He scowls at her. “How in hell'd you know?” </p>
<p>She shrugs. “I just do.” </p>
<p>He continues to scowl at her for several long seconds. Then his raises his eyebrows at her and bumps her shoulder with his. “Well?” There's laughter dancing in her eyes. “What about you?” he demands. </p>
<p>“Yes, James,” she says. “Me too.” </p>
<p>He grins, and he nods, accepting it. He's happy. And he didn't even have to say it. He will, dozens of times, until it too becomes easy. But he doesn't have to. </p>
<p>(end)</p>
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